


Shackled

by Oliver__Niko



Series: Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Illusions, Imprisonment, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 11:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20965964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: Heldalf and Symonne discover who they must target to cause the Shepherd to fall. In their imprisonment, Mikleo is tormented by the form Symonne's illusion takes.





	Shackled

**Author's Note:**

> (Uses the prompt as a title like an insanely creative person)
> 
> Here's my second fic for Whumptober and for the prompt 'Shackled', in case you haven't guessed. I hope you enjoy! Though there's nothing too intense here, if you're easily affected by negative emotions & thoughts in fics, please bear in mind that this focuses on that.

Drowning. Suffocating. Dense air, swirls of malevolence creeping around him. Closing in. A physical manifestation of negative emotions, of sin, seeping through his mouth and nose to consume him from the inside.

Hopelessness. Despair. It is difficult to tell if that or his physical agony is the most unbearable. Perhaps it is also the loneliness, the desperation for an escape which never arrives. It’s impossible to centre on only one. A maelstrom of suffering leaves no room for focusing your mind on anything but one thing; questioning if you are strong enough to stop yourself from breaking.

His arms ache. He can recall the times they have done so from excess training, where though he is in pain, he can still grin and feel accomplished. That cannot be a possibility when they ache from his wrists being shackled above his head for so long.

Or at least that is what it feels like. He counted time at first, as a way to keep sane. It began to have the opposite effect. The selfish and cruel doubts of his friends and if they will be on their way after all, the shame and hatred towards himself for having these thoughts cross his mind, and the worry about why they have not arrived yet. A worry that they have been rendered to a state where this is impossible.

His head lowers. Matted, greased strands of silver falling over a bruised face. He cannot stand it. All this uncertainty, the pain, the inability to do _nothing _but allow that fallen seraph to taunt him. To try and fight against the malevolence, find hope in how he’s not yet transformed into a mindless beast, that Sorey must have not fallen yet if Mikleo himself is fine.

A method to cause the Shepherd to fall. They realised the Squire, though so special to Sorey’s heart, is not the key to bringing him down. He’s too strong to allow anything but the most significant person to bring him agony, enough to cause him to embrace darkness. The childhood friend. So simple, yet so, so rewarding.

Mikleo’s jaw clenches. If only he hadn’t been so _weak. _If only he hadn’t allowed himself to fall into their mind games. To be shameful enough to allow himself to be a victim, their weapon against the Shepherd, the solution to their puzzle on how to taint a heart so kind and pure.

“Time’s passing, yet we still haven’t come for you, have we?”

His shoulders tense, brought up towards his head. Wishing his hands were free to block out that voice. The voice he never realised he could miss so terribly, and certainly never expected to drive such intense horror in his heart.

“They need time.” His own voice is hoarse, as though it hasn’t been used in years. “To get strong enough, and to find us.”

“Yet the more time passes, the more you suffer. I hate seeing you like this, Mikleo.”

Footsteps. Closer, edging towards him. He brings his legs closer to himself. He attempts to shout out, demand for them to stay away, although it catches itself in his throat.

“Perhaps you should simply give in.” The figure crouches in front of him. He attempts to keep his gaze away, although cannot push away the hand which reaches to his chin. His face is lifted. And he meets the green eyes he knows so well, yet still bring no sense of love.

Not when he knows it’s not real.

“All this enduring, and for what?” asks the voice of Sorey’s illusion, feigned sympathy on that wretched face. “Because you believe we’re going to come for you?”

“You are.”

“But why would we? The fact that you’re not a dragon yet proves I haven’t fallen, so clearly I care less than you think.” Sorey lifts Mikleo’s chin higher when the latter tries to avert his gaze. “And why would I? All you are is a liability on the group.”

“I’m not—”

“Think about it. I’m gaining more power as the Shepherd, far more than what you can hope to obtain. Rose has been exposed to seraphim all her life, she’s a Squire, can Armatize. The other seraphim have centuries of experience on you. So where, in all of this, do you fit in?”

“Shut it.” Mikleo tries to say the words with strength, with defiance, but they come out far weaker than he wishes. “He wouldn’t say this. He doesn’t believe it.”

“No. I just get scared to admit it, hurting your feelings. Poor, little water seraphim … They definitely are sensitive, aren’t they?” A thumb rubs over his cheek. A taunting smile. “Mere words are able to break you. I feel sorry for how _weak _you are.”

Mikleo grits his teeth. “You’re wrong.”

“But I’m not, am I? We’re going to leave you to rot here, simply put you down once you become a dragon. We had such a wonderful time together, growing up. I still cherish it a lot, you know. But that doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve gotten stronger, left you behind. There’s no use in dwelling on happy memories when you’ve become useless, just a waste of space that slows me down.”

“Shut _up!” _

The scream hurts his throat. He kicks his leg out to Sorey, rattling the chains above his head. Sorey backs away easily. He’s spun out of sight; the back of Sorey’s hand to Mikleo’s face swings his head to the side.

“You should know your place by now.” The same hand grasps at his throat and forces his head back around. Mikleo gasps, lifting his face as an attempt to be able to breathe. “You’re nothing. We’re not coming for you, we’re not going to save you. And even if we do, you’re not strong enough to fight against the malevolence. You’ll become a dragon, and be the reason I fall. Everything will be your fault.”

“I-It’s not—I won’t—”

“You’ll be able to redeem yourself, of course. Once you die, you won’t be able to cause trouble for anyone. That’s good, right? That you’ll finally be doing something good for others?” Sorey smiles as Mikleo attempts to shake his head. “Oh, sweetheart. You really are in denial, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t bother to move as his throat is released and his head drops. He watches as Sorey’s footsteps edge away.

“You’re nothing but a burden to everyone. It’s about time you realised that.”

Any sight of the illusion disappears, as does the voice. But the impact still remains. A sore, broken sob is caught in Mikleo’s throat, his dry eyes stinging as they wish to produce more tears. No fall. He’s far too numb from acceptance.

The illusions may be fake, but the words, to him, are real. His doubts and insecurities are even more so. It matters not if the real Sorey is the one to say this to him or not. None of it matters.

The truth will always be real either way, no matter whose mouth it escapes from.

Perhaps it is for the best. To be left here, unable to move, barely able to speak, far from anyone he can hurt with his own incompetence.

His life could slip away any moment, and it would do less harm than it would if he remained alive.

That is what he says, at least, as his shackled hands clench into fists and a single tear finally trickles down that pale face.


End file.
